Page 13 of Music of the Night
I tore my eyes away from his lips, banishing my wistful thoughts. Why was his appearance so distracting? “Yes.”
“If you must know, it is my sanctuary, where I write and practice.”
“Where you play the music that comes from the tower each night?” I added, knowing I was right. My fingers tingled like I were on the edge of discovering a secret.
He cocked his head and pressed his lips together. Something unreadable flickered in his eye. “When I first came to High Tower I took this place as my own, but it was simply a tower of rocks.”
His words were like a spell and I lifted my gaze to the floating candles, trailing vines and crystal chandeliers. I imagined nothing, nothing at all but darkness and cold, unfriendly stone.
“Go on,” I breathed.
“Rats and roaches made this place their home. I banished those foul creatures and shaped the tower into my own haven. It took time but I searched these barren shores, and built the organ I play each evening.”
I gasped. “You built it? With your own two hands?”
He rewarded me with another slight smile. “If you are determined, you can do anything.”
“It must have taken you a long time,” I sputtered. “Where did you find the materials?”
“It did, but I had nothing but time. Wood is plentiful, it was the tin for the organ pipes that took much longer.”
I stared, a new respect rising as I studied him, noting his broad shoulders and long fingers. His skill went beyond music to crafting, to taking a rough object and forming it into beauty. No wonder he was an excellent instructor. I opened my mouth to ask if he would allow me to see it, the organ piano he built with his hands, but he interrupted.
“Come. You should be warm now. Sing.”
Sing. Once again he’d pulled away just when I was learning more about him. Still, he’d opened up and shared with me, and I hoped those rare tastes of who he was would become more frequent.
Clasping my hands in front of me I stepped back into place, closed my eyes, and let the music guide me.
11
Uriah
“How come I never see you at the theater?” She asked one evening, after we’d finished singing.
I handed her a cup of water, surprised by the question. “I am not welcome.” A safe answer, although it was not true. When I pleased, I sought amusement at the theater, just not in the way she assumed.
Aria’s brow furrowed. “Not welcome? Have you spoken to Count Zorik? He’s in constant need for singers for his theater and you have the best voice I’ve ever heard.”
The compliment hung on her lips and I softened as her curious eyes studied me, waiting for a response. “I no longer consider myself a performer, besides, a woman always sings the lead in the theater.”
“I’ve noticed,” Aria wrinkled her nose. “Why? There are few performances with men, and when they are it is usually a duet, a heart-rending tale of two lovers. Sometimes the chorus sings, other times Lady Siobhan takes the stage alone.”
I lifted a finger, my words hinting at a truth while attempting to keep the bitter ring out of my tone. “Because a woman is pleasant to look at and the sound of her voice encourages dreams of pleasure, which is the focus of the theater.”
“And a man’s voice is not pleasurable?” Her eyes flashed.
“If you will take note, the main patrons of the theater are lords, with ladies on their arms.”
Aria nodded, considering. “You’re saying the performances are to please men?”
“Are they not? Have you watched as a member of the audience?”
She shrugged. “Once, before I started dancing, but I admit I was too distracted to pay much attention.”
Distracted? Most visitors attentions were riveted to the performance and the sensual threads of magic that wove into their minds. Egged on by the potent flavor of wine and cigar smoke and the music—music I often wrote and smuggled into Count Zorik’s study. The theater was half mine, half his, for I provided the music while he wrote the stories that bound the audience to their seats, and made them go mad with lust and longing afterward. Was Aria immune to the magic? But how could she be? “Surely you partake in the pleasures after each performance?” I asked, studying her for a reaction.
Nostrils flaring she took a step back and twisted her fingers in front of her. “I. . .I. . .no. I went once but those parties aren’t like the festivities I am used to.”
